


Survivor's Guilt

by icewhisper



Category: Glee
Genre: Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pre-Slash, Self-Harm, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 13:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7894930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icewhisper/pseuds/icewhisper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the mental scars are just as painful as the physical ones. In the wake of a tragedy, Puck is left scarred and a shadow of who he’d been. Finn can’t handle losing him too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survivor's Guilt

They didn't talk about it. Not about the scars that marred what used to be smooth skin. Not about the screams that had woken him up that cold morning in December. Not about the electrical fire or the fact that his mom hadn't made it out. Not about Sarah, tiny and burned, lying in a bed and trapped in a coma she wasn't going to wake up from.

Not about his aunt being the one to sign the papers, but that he had been the one to flip the switch on the machine that was keeping her alive.

Not about the fact that he had sat there with one hand in hers while Finn held his other one until she was gone.

Not about the fact that his life had completely fallen apart, months into senior year.

They had never talked about the heavy stuff, no matter how much doing that probably would have put them both into mental places that weren't so dark and twisted. They could have. Should have when Carole and Burt moved him into the cramped corner of Finn's bedroom because Carole loved him like her own.

They didn't. 

They didn't talk. Not about the nightmares that left him screaming and the two of them awake for hours before the sun came up. Not about the survivor's guilt or the depression that ate at him and cut slashes into his skin, because that was the only way he could feel anything anymore.

They never talked about when a birthday candle got lit for Kurt and he fell into a panic attack that was no breathing but too much sobbing while Finn held him against his chest and promised that he was safe.

They never talked until Finn caught him with the box cutter pressed into his arm and even then, it was barely a talk. Mostly, it was just sad looks and this heartbroken sigh while Finn looked like he didn't know what to do other than take the blade from limp fingers.

"You need to talk to someone. Me. My mom. A shrink. _Someone_."

He shook his head, numb except for the burning in his arm. Talking wouldn't bring them back or wash himself of the fact that he'd killed his baby sister.

"They wouldn't want this."

Somewhere during it, Finn pulled him against his chest, his own shoulders shaking as he started to cry.

"I don't wanna lose you too."

It occurred to him slowly, like some kind of lost memory, that Finn had loved his mom and Sarah too. Loved them like they were his family, just the same as he loved Carole. Family without the blood connection, but Finn had barely been out of arms reach since he’d walked into his hospital room with shaky legs and a red face.

"You can't leave."

Lips pressed to his temple and as his own eyes filled with tears, he wondered if this was the breaking point. Live or die. Keep living for them until he could learn to live for himself or escape the pain and the scarred body he had been left with. 

"Please..."

His arms, bloody and marked with the healed burns and open cuts, wrapped around Finn's middle as the first sob came. "They're gone..."

"I know. I know." Nothing else. No promises that things would get better with time or that this would hurt less eventually. Maybe Finn knew there wasn't a point in words he couldn't promise were true. Things might never be okay again, no matter how optimistic people wanted them to be. The worst thing that could have ever happened _happened_. There was no taking that back. No erasing the pain from it. No erasing the suffocating feeling of loss he’d felt since they’d laid Sarah next to their mother in half-frozen ground.

He couldn’t remember what it was like to breathe without feeling like most of his soul was missing.

Finn’s hands traced circles over his back, fingers running along a spinal column that was sticking out too much and the bumps of burn scars. Fifty-five percent of his body was covered in them and Finn never flinched at it after that first time. In another world, they would have made jokes about battle scars, but there was nothing funny about this. There was nothing funny about the way he hated his own reflection now, feeling more like a horror movie villain than a person.

He’d asked once, his voice broken and hollow, why he’d been the one to make it out alive. Why not his mother? Why not Sarah? Some nurse, well-meaning as she was, said he wasn’t done in this world yet.

They’d had to sedate him so he’d stop screaming that _neither was Sarah_.

When he’d calmed, drugged and lost, Finn had leaned over, his fingers brushing against a tear-stained cheek, and said he didn’t know. It was the truth no one would give him. Everyone else tried to fill him with sentimental trash, but Finn had been honest. There had been no sense to any of it. To him living. To them dying.

_“I’d take their place if I could. I wish I could give them back to you.”_

He remembered the pain on Finn’s face when he’d said it. The intensity and the weight of words that were too heavy for a couple of teenagers that were barely eighteen. They shouldn’t have been talking about stuff like this. They were too young to know this kind of loss. He was too young to have that blinding panic as he’d grabbed Finn’s hand and told him that, no, he wouldn’t survive losing him too and know he wasn’t exaggerating.

Finn meant too much. To the world. To him.

"Finn..."

"I know," Finn said again, but for a whole other reason as he pulled back to look him in the eye. Gave him a watery smile like he understood the words Puck didn't say. "Me too."

He leaned into Finn’s chest, his breath shaking as he began to sob again. Felt Finn’s hold on him tighten as lips were pressed to his temple.

They sat there until Carole found them, full of sad and broken sighs as she helped Finn pick him up off the floor. Gentle hands wiped the tears off his face before they moved down to examine each cut along his arms. More scars. More stuff to hide.

“Noah…”

He flinched at his name like he always seemed to now. Didn’t want the reminder of the name his mother had given him. It was just another reminder that she wouldn’t do it anymore. Not her. Not Sarah.

Where Finn had begged him to talk to someone, Carole was more firm. They had tried to let him deal on his own. Tried to give him room to mourn without crowding him, but Carole’s tired voice warned him of cutting too deep and of suicide watches at a hospital. Finn’s breath caught at the implication that he was suicidal, like he’d never let himself think the words.

He didn’t argue and Finn started crying.

Sobs wracking his body and Finn reached for Puck’s hand, clutching it like a lifeline. Like he was scared Puck would disappear if he let go. Maybe he would have, he thought as his eyes turned down to stare at cut arms. Maybe Finn had reason to be worried.

He returned Finn’s grip, just as strongly, and leaned into the other teen’s side. Whispered an apology into Finn’s ear as a lump formed in his throat. He barely nodded when Carole stood up, talking about calling around and finding a therapist for him. Get him the help he needed. Do it for his mom and Sarah, he reminded himself as the nerves began to make his stomach twist. For them. For Finn. Maybe, eventually, it would be for him too.

She left them alone and they turned into each other, Finn’s bulky arms wrapping around a thin, scarred body. Faces pressed into shoulders until Finn pulled back enough to kiss Puck’s temple and, again, to kiss his forehead.

“It’ll get better,” he promised, his voice thick. “Easier.” Not perfect. Things would probably never be perfect again, Puck knew, but they’d take what they could get. There wasn’t any other choice at this point. At least, not one that didn’t involve breaking Finn’s heart.

Finn lifted a hand to brush the backs of his fingers across Puck’s cheek before he leaned forward to press their foreheads together. “I’m with you, alright? Every step,” he promised.

Puck raised red eyes to look at him, biting at his bottom lip. “Why?”

Finn pulled back, sad eyes combining oddly with the soft smile as he just barely touched Puck’s lips with his own. Feather-light and too short to do more than make Puck’s breath hitch, but he lowered his forehead back to Puck’s at the same time he tangled their fingers together. “You know why.”

Puck let out a ragged sigh. Yeah. Yeah, he knew.

The End


End file.
